


lie in wait (literally)

by Stabbsworth



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, heavy suicide themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:53:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26151427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stabbsworth/pseuds/Stabbsworth
Summary: it will be the darkest night when he's taken, and he expects no less from a boss that isn't technically his boss.
Kudos: 7





	lie in wait (literally)

He's alone again.

It was becoming expected, at this point.

He'd transport himself into another Constant, greet anyone if someone was around, introduce himself, help with building up a base, figure out the machine needed to transport himself to another Constant, tweak it to only work once without extensive repairs between users, and be on his way.

This time, and, as is becoming the usual, he's alone.

He's resigned to it at this point. Alcohol doesn't distract him much anymore, and he can't particularly be arsed to bugger about with getting things set up well enough to make some. Yeast cultures were needed, some sort of stone mason jars were needed to store the stuff, and he needed to make barrels as well in the case that tannin-heavy red wines were wanted.

And he didn't have any drinking partners. Not in this world.

He slumps against the marble pillars of the postern, and considers letting the vines take him. It'd be easier than making machines to send him to the next world over, letting the stuff he leaves here crumble to dust or ashes amongst summer wildfires.

He lays himself down, wriggling into the most comfortable position he can manage while on the ground, and shuts his eyes.

It would be so much easier to do it himself, finding the nearest piece of flint and plunging it into his neck, maybe multiple times, but that would hurt.

He's done that before, after being chucked out of a camp with no warning whatsoever. The memory still triggered several unpleasant emotions.

He lays there, and waits, drifting in and out of sleep. This world's Charlie would eventually come and kill him. A painful death, but probably less painful than a death by his own hands at the perception of abandonment.

He adjusts his position to get more comfortable.

**Author's Note:**

> shrugs, gestures.
> 
> loosely belongs in that spirit of the constant at night au.


End file.
